


On The Nature of Daylight

by HarleyMarie



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst Galore But I Promise There's A Happy Ending, Black paladin Shiro, Everything Hurts, F/M, Heavy Angst, Memory Loss, Please Don't Hate Me, The Only Black Paladin Let's Be Real Here, descriptions of ouchies, druid magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2019-10-28 17:54:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17792027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarleyMarie/pseuds/HarleyMarie
Summary: After an encounter with Haggar where Shiro was struck by dark magic, Team Voltron realizes that his memory is slowly deteriorating. Is there anything that can be done to stop it? Perhaps not, but they're going to try. And Allura is going to love him through it all.





	1. Prologue: Matutine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Matutine- (adj.) just before the dawn

The cool air of the early morning that snuck under the sheets and caused her skin to prickle wasn’t what woke her. It wasn’t the way her pillow was bunched under her head so that it lost its shape entirely that woke her either. No, what awoke Allura from her sleep was the warmth of a sleepy sigh as it blew against the nape of her neck, followed by a gentle kiss that sent a flash of heat over her skin.

She heard a husky voice from behind her mumble a “Good morning” into her hair before lips found their way back to her skin again. Fingers grazed over her side and searched the bedclothes until they found what they sought after: her own hand. The fingers laced themselves together with hers before carefully pressing the entwined hands against her chest. Her heart beat in a steady rhythm, slow and at ease, her body still mostly within the grasp of sleep.

“What time is it, Takashi?” she groaned as she drew the hand to her lips and kissed the back of it gently. Her eyes were still closed against any morning light that might try to break through her lashes.

“Does it matter?” the voice whispered. Lazy kisses blended into each other and marked the path of her lover’s lips as he made his way up the side of her neck and rested at the hollow behind her ear.

“It does if you have somewhere you need to be.”

Strong arms wrapped themselves tighter around her torso from behind, and warm palms—one of flesh and one of metal—pressed against her skin. The thumb of the hand that she grasped rubbed her knuckles lightly back and forth. “Today’s my day off, ‘Lura. The only place I need to be is…” a kiss on the corner of her jaw, “right…” a kiss on the curve of her shoulder, “here…” a heavy whisper against the vein that pounded under the skin of her throat.

“Takashi Shirogane, you’ve never taken a day off in your life.” Allura leaned her head into his, pressing their cheeks together. “And I’m not entirely convinced you know what that phrase means.”

She could feel his lips pull into a smile against her skin and she couldn’t hold back the grin of her own that the tiny movement caused. “Point taken,” he whispered. “But today is special, or have you forgotten?”

Allura frowned and looked over her shoulder in his direction. “Forgotten?”

His patient silence left her to think. “It’s Saturday, that much I know…” she mused aloud.

“All day long, baby girl. But it’s not just any Saturday. That’s because today, exactly two years ago, was the day that I first told you that I loved you.”

Allura couldn’t help but smile at the memory. They had been walking the castle’s halls late one night, as neither of them could sleep. Suddenly Shiro had stopped, taken her hand in hers, and whispered what they both had been aching to say to each other. 

What they shared in that moment and in that hesitant yet insistent kiss that followed was the most intimate experience of her life. She was drowning and the feel of his lips on hers, of his hands drawing her near to him as if she were life itself, saved her.

“I love you Allura. And I plan on reminding you of just how much I love you all day long…”

He tasted like the morning, and she drank him in. His hair fell over his forehead, the white strands mingling and twisting together with the black, and she loved it. She loved the way the stubble on his jaw barely broke past his skin and yet still scratched at her in that pleasant way. She loved the way his skin pressed into hers so that she couldn’t tell where she ended and he began. She loved the way he cradled her in his arms so that she felt small but perfectly safe.

Without warning, Shiro pulled away and paused. His eyes lingered on every detail of her face, and Allura could practically hear his heart sing. When he finally spoke, he was so quiet that she could barely hear him, yet his voice filled every crevice of the room and every crack in her heart. 

“You amaze me. No one on my entire planet, not a single person in my entire corner of the galaxy, could ever hope to make me any happier than you do right now. I look at you… and nothing else in the universe matters. 

“I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love you, and I never will. You are everything that I’ve been looking for, everything I’ve been missing. You are my everything, and I never want you to ever doubt, question, or forget that. My heart is yours, forever and always, to the end of the universe and forever beyond. You are the love of my life, and I will never, ever, stop loving you.”

Allura’s heart caught in her throat when she heard his words. At that moment, she swore that she had never seen anything so beautiful as his eyes staring into hers. Gray as the starlit sea, dark lashes so long they nearly touched his cheeks when he closed his eyes. The slightest touch of a wrinkle that appeared at the corners of his eyes when he smiled. The scar that bridged his nose, which was ever so slightly crooked, like it had been broken at some point and had not quite healed right.  
When she looked at him she saw her equal. She saw someone who had cast the world to the side for her sake and would do it again and again. She saw a man who had seen too much, been too many places, been beaten into the dirt until he barely knew who stood in the mirror, and who still extended a hand to lift her up when she grew weak. 

But most importantly she saw hope. Hope that she was worthy of love. Hope that they both could be healed together. Hope that even if the entire universe unraveled, as long as they stood by each other then they would never be alone.

“Takashi Shirogane, nothing could ever keep me from loving you. Nothing.” She tilted his head so his forehead rested against hers lightly. “For as long as I live I will love you. I will never leave you. And I will always be here for you. No matter what.”

Shiro sighed and smiled tenderly. He reached up and lightly ran his fingertips over the curve of her cheek, resting for a moment on the colored marks beneath her eyes. 

“What did I ever do to deserve you?” he whispered.

Allura tilted her chin so that her lips were nearly on his. “Absolutely nothing.” She closed the distance between them with a kiss, which Shiro readily returned.

 

The lights of the castle ship slipped under the door, signaling the morning.


	2. La Petite Mort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> La petite mort- French, "the little death"

Sweat. 

It dripped into his eyes from under the face shield of his helmet. He couldn’t swipe it away. 

The salt dripped onto his lips, made its way onto his tongue. 

His mouth was dry. His lungs burned. His muscles screamed.

But he kept running. 

He knew the layout of this kind of ship like the back of his hand. All of the Galra prison ships were the same. Prisoners held in the bowels of the vessel, interrogation rooms above, maybe some office spaces or cargo holds. One didn’t differ much from the other, and Shiro had used this knowledge to Voltron’s advantage. After disabling the security measures and taking out the main defenses, their average time between first contact and final extraction was less than an hour. They had a system, and it had been going pretty smoothly with minimal casualties on their side.

That is, until today.

Before they even set eyes on the ship, Shiro had a bad feeling about it. Something in his gut told him that it was just a little bit too easy. It just looked  _ off _ , but why exactly he felt this way he couldn’t quite put a finger on. He voiced it to the team but was quickly assured by Keith that it would be fine and everything would be under control. They were ‘on a hot streak’ as he put it, and Keith was riding it for all it was worth. Shiro noticed that Lance had tried to butt in, but he was shut down almost immediately. Lance had shrugged and offered an apologetic grin, which Shiro didn’t return. 

Something in him said that this was going to be bad.  _ Very bad. _

As soon as they boarded the ship and Pidge began to disable any of its outgoing communications, all hell broke loose. More sentries than they had ever seen before poured out of every hallway. They were practically coming out of the walls themselves. Hunk wasn’t entirely convinced that they weren’t.

The team was quickly separated despite their efforts to stay together. In the few minutes they had to look, it was found that there were hardly any prisoners in the ship at all. It was an ambush, pure and simple. And they had swallowed it hook, line, and sinker. Voltron had grown overconfident and was now paying the price for it.

Now Shiro was sprinting down the halls as fast as he could, ducking and taking cover from the blasters’ shots wherever he could. The enemy was hot on his heels, chasing him like a dog.

He saw an open doorway out of the corner of his eye and made for it. He turned so fast that he nearly lost his footing on the floor, and had to throw his hands out in front of him to stay upright. Suddenly he saw a blinding flash of light, felt a searing pain in his chest as a wave of pure energy slammed into him, and felt his body crash to the ground. He cried out and attempted to push himself back up to his feet, but when a throaty cackle reached his ears, he froze.

Pure fear filled his stomach like ice. 

“I always knew you would come back.”

He knew that voice. It was the voice that whispered in the back of his mind when he was alone, screamed at him in his night terrors. 

He had prayed that he would never lay eyes on her again. But there she was, in the flesh.

“My  _ masterpiece _ .”

He wanted to say something. Anything. But his words were stuck to his throat like tar.

He could only stare back in horror.

_ Haggar.  _

“Your little band of heroes is scattered to the wind,” the lanky witch spat, stalking toward Shiro. Her robe swirled around her feet like an oil slick. “Your coalition is breaking. All of your resistance is for nothing.”

She stopped for a moment and sneered at him. 

“Look at you. My champion, broken and cowering in the corner like a CHILD!”

A beam of light streaked from the witch’s fingers. Shiro tried to avoid it but was just a fraction of a second too slow. It threw him across the room, tumbling head over heels into the wall. His helmet was knocked from his head and rolled to the side, cracked. Pain exploded across his body and he saw stars. 

Haggar’s frigid voice pierced through the pain in his head. “Get up.” 

Shiro felt a stream of something hot pour down his brow. He absentmindedly swiped at it, smearing blood across his face. He tried to get to his knees but fell to the ground when his limbs gave out under his weight.

“I  _ said _ , get up.”

The witch leaned closer, teasing him. “What? Is something wrong, my dear?”

Her voice swirled in his ears. He wanted to wrap his hands around her neck and wring the very life out of her. He wanted nothing more than to feel her windpipe crumple under the force of his fingers, to watch her eyes bulge in terror and the capillaries in them burst, until she was dead and gone. But no matter how hard he blinked, her form kept moving around the room. He didn’t know if it was just the concussion he had just suffered or if she was doing it on purpose.

“GET UP!” Haggar shrieked. She stayed where she was in the middle of the room. Her entire body was shaking with rage.

“I can see it in your eyes,” she said as she sauntered closer to Shiro’s crumpled form. His gut twisted more with every step. 

“You hate me, don’t you?” Her lips twisted into what was supposed to be a grin. “Or do you hate what stares back at you in the mirror? Now which is it?”

_ Both, _ a voice replied from the back of his mind. 

Haggar smiled as though she had heard Shiro’s mind herself. Maybe she had. “But you know that you are nothing without me.”

Something snapped inside of Shiro. A scream that seemed to come from the very depths of himself ripped through his throat and he threw himself at Haggar. He reached to grab her, only to fall through where she had stood only a moment before. She appeared right behind him, her face ablaze with elation.

“Oh, there it is. That’s it!” 

Shiro shoved himself to his feet and shakily spun around to face her. His teeth were bared in a grimace, and his eyes seemed to be on fire. His unbridled fury was truly terrifying to behold. 

Haggar  _ loved it _ . 

He heard his right hand activate, felt the severed nerve endings of his stump burn with alien energy, saw the familiar purple glow out of the corner of his eye that had once struck terror into the very hearts of his opponents in the arena. Now he would take that hand and kill the one who had forced it upon him.

His body moved of its own accord. There was no distance between thought, action, and reaction. If he had been able to form any sort of coherent thought, he would have marveled at his own skill. However, his only thought was of death–either hers or his own.

With every lunge, Shiro could feel himself drawing closer to his prey, inching forward, but every movement seemed achingly slow. She was playing with him, always dancing just out of his reach, but he didn’t care. He only wanted her dead.

The tips of the fingers of his right hand singed the hem of her cloak, twinging his nose and tainting the air with the scent of burning cloth married to the acrid smell of tar. 

“Come on, you can do better than that,” the witch hissed. “Hit me!”

His body twisted on instinct, anticipating her next position, and he sent his fist careening into her mottled jaw. The sound of flesh colliding with flesh met his ears, but she hardly seemed phased at all.

“Yes, there’s my pet! I knew you hadn’t lost your edge!”

Something about that slowed Shiro so that he paused on the fringes of Haggar’s reach. She had called him that before, hadn’t she? He couldn’t remember any exact time, but the moniker stirred the burning coals in his core all the same. Maybe it was the image that it bore. Him, as some plaything on a leash at the disposal of anyone who felt like kicking him. Him, as a mindless tool that had not gone dull despite being unused. 

Haggar felt his turmoil and pounced on it. She knew him too well, better than he knew himself he thought. 

“Come on! Kill me!” She slammed her palm against her chest. She took a step toward him.

“Rip my throat out with your teeth!” She tore at the neck of her cloak and tossed it aside. Another step.

“Tear my guts apart and throw them across the room!” She split the fabric of her gown with a yank, exposing her bony chest from jaw to sternum. “Rip my arms from my torso!” Her arms spread wide like wings, fingers clawing at the sky. “Bash my brains in!” She drilled him with a stare that could only be described as practically deranged. “Come on, Champion, you’ve done it a million times before, what’s one more! KILL ME!”

He didn’t even realize what he did until they collided. Him, an avenger adorned in pain hurtling through the space between them as tears blurred his vision; her, the weaver of a tapestry of death who tortured him by never severing the thread. 

For the briefest of moments, they were entwined in an embrace. It was impossible to tell where one body ended and the other began. A single cry–a battle cry–shook the air of the room.

And just as quickly as they had come together, they were thrust apart. A flash of energy exploded between them. Black and white armor was flung against the far wall with a sickening  _ crunch _ . The war cry of the soldier became a strangled gasp of a wounded man. 

Haggar lowered her arms and looked at Shiro’s crumpled body with disdain. She spat to the side and slowly slunk toward him. He didn’t move. When she reached him she reached down and drew his body up by the armor surrounding his neck with incredible strength. She glanced down at the chestplate, caved in well beyond what a ribcage should allow. She watched the blood bubble over his parted lips as he gasped for air that eluded him. He could do nothing but try and breathe. And he was failing miserably.

She was disgusted.

“You’re pathetic,” she whispered to the limp body she held. “Weak.”

His eyes rolled down to meet hers. He tried to reach up and grab her gown but couldn’t manage it. 

“Go ahead. Kill me.” The words eked out slowly, deliberately, painfully. “Do it.”

Haggar only glared back at him with a dark look, one he couldn’t read.

“Kill you? And waste all of my hard work?” She clicked her tongue admonishingly and brushed his chin with her thumb, smearing the blood along his jawline. She drew her hand back and sucked the blood from her finger. She never broke eye contact. “You don’t know me at all, do you my dear? And after all the time we spent together…” She shook her head, clearly disappointed, as if she were punishing a child. “It’s such a shame, though. You had so much untapped potential. You could have been great and yet…” She sighed and shook her head. “Doesn’t matter now, does it?” A fingernail traced the curve of his cheek lightly before resting against his temple. 

“What a waste.”

A flash of white behind his eyes. 

Acid pouring down his spine. 

Teeth breaking. 

Bones grinding. 

Fire searing the inside of his skull. 

And then nothing. 

Nothing at all.

  
  
  


Warm. 

It was warm. 

Something pressed in around him. 

Yes.

No. 

He was weightless.

He didn’t care. 

Floating in a sea of nothing.  

He was breathing. 

He wasn’t.

He was alive.

Was he?

 

 

Light. 

Everything was blurred.

Voices he couldn’t understand washed over him. 

Dark shapes stood over him, prodding and grabbing him.

Slowly words formed out of the vocal mud.

“Shiro? Shiro, can you hear me?”

He blinked. He knew that voice.

His vision cleared more by the second until he was staring back into the eyes of Allura. Her face was pained, worried. He focused his eyes on hers. It took a lot of effort to keep his vision straight, but he couldn’t stop the weak smile from spreading across his face.

“Hey,” he whispered hoarsely. 

Allura choked back a sob for a moment, tears of relief sparkling in her eyes. She grasped his face between her hands and leaned against his chest for a desperate kiss, which he returned, albeit weakly. When she pulled away just far enough to breathe, she looked into his eyes for a long time, almost as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. “Hey,” she eventually managed to reply. 

The two didn’t break their gaze as Allura reached down and laced her fingers into Shiro’s and drew his left arm up so his hand rested next to his head. She ran her thumb along the side of his with such gentleness that it was almost as if she were afraid to break him. “I thought… I thought I…” She swallowed hard. “I thought I lost you.”

Shiro blinked. He stared back at her. “Lost me…  _ where  _ exactly?”

Now it was Allura’s turn to blink. “I… The prison ship. We found you nearly dead. Your chest was caved in. You… you’ve been in a healing pod for sixteen quintants.” She pushed up on her elbows so she could see his face better. “Don’t you remember?”

Shiro frowned and slowly shook his head. “No. No I don’t.”


End file.
